


the sun shines and fights for your day

by the_one_that_fell



Series: the heaviness that i hold in my heart belongs to gravity [6]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Baking, Mentions of Eating Disorder, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 13:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8057926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: It's hard taking care of yourself when just looking in the mirror triggers a panic attack. But that's what bros are for, apparently.





	the sun shines and fights for your day

**Author's Note:**

> lbr at this point im just straight up projecting onto bitty. sorry bits :(

It was shaping up to be a pretty uneventful Friday night. Holster was already passed out asleep in the attic after spending the last 36 hours awake, Jack was in Boston meeting with the Bruins’ GM, and Shitty was out with Lardo and her art friends. Ransom shrugged to himself and wandered into the kitchen looking for pie and beer - the only real constants in the Haus. 

Except...there  _ was _ no pie. Plenty of beer - Shitty made sure of that - but the only food graced by Bitty’s touch in the entire damn kitchen was a half-eaten tray of bagel bites in the fridge.

Something was wrong. Bitty has inherited Suzanne Bittle’s drive to keep everyone within an arm’s length fed and happy. He didn't just  _ not make pie _ . 

Immediately, Ransom’s mind went to the worst possible scenarios: Bitty was deathly ill, Bitty had been kidnapped, Bitty had run into a gang of angry LAX bros, Bitty had  _ given up baking _ -

He jogged up the stairs, only slightly panicking. All of the rooms on the second floor were dark, except for one. 

“Bits?” Ransom poked his head into Bitty’s room. “Fuck, Bits, are you okay?”

Bitty was curled up on his bed, in coffee stained pajama pants and an old MCHS Football tank top. With a poorly concealed groan, Bitty sat up and gave Ransom the most fake smile he'd ever seen. 

“Right as rain,” Bitty said. “You need something?” 

“There's no pie,” Ransom said, unable to tear his eyes away from Bitty’s greasy hair and sallow skin. The air in the room felt stagnant and smelled stale. Clothes were piled in the hamper, dangerously close to tipping over onto the desk. 

Bitty gave a weak laugh. “Oh, I'm so sorry. Just been tired lately. I'll go downstairs and see what we've got to work with-” He started to stand but Ransom pushed him back onto the bed. 

“That's not what I meant,” Ransom said with a frown. “Bits, not to sound rude, but when was the last time you showered?” 

Being the two cleanest and best-dressed bros in the Haus (and on the team), Ransom and Bitty had once had a long, in-depth discussion of their grooming habits. 

“You don't understand,” Bitty had slurred, pouring himself another mug of wine from the box on Ransom’s desk. “My hair is thin and fine and my daddy’s side of the family is all disgusting grease monsters. I  _ have _ to shower and wash my hair every day or else I look like I've just bathed in olive oil.” 

Ransom laughed, but knew from years of experience that Holster’s hair tended to get a little janky if he skipped a shower. There was a reason Bits always looked good. 

“Um,” Bitty said. “Yesterday?” 

Ransom raised an eyebrow. Bitty’s hair was a few shades darker than normal, saturated with grease and sweat. He was lying. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Ransom asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You look pale.” 

Bitty nodded. “Just...tired.” 

Ransom could relate. Midterms were in full swing and after yesterday’s exam he felt like he’d run a marathon. But there was something in the dark circles under Bitty’s eyes, the stony look on his face that didn’t sit right with Ransom. 

“You wanna play Mario Kart?” He asked hopefully. That always cheered Holster up. 

“No, thank you,” Bitty said, voice quiet and measured. He still had that weak, fake smile plastered on his face. Ransom bit the inside of his cheek and studied Bitty’s face, the way he was carefully inhaling and exhaling, the shaking of his hands. 

“Bits, please. When was the last time you showered?” He tried to keep his voice soft and measured, like his mom did when talking to a patient. 

Bitty bit his lip. “Tuesday, after practice.” 

Ransom’s first instinct was to say, “Gross,” but his mother raised him right, so instead he managed an only somewhat judgemental, “Seriously?”

When Bitty looked like he might cry, Ransom backpedaled. “I mean- Um- midterms got you that bad?” 

Bitty shrugged. “I...it’s not really midterms. It’s just...I get in these funks. I, uh. It’s hard to explain.”

Ransom frowned. “I don’t understand.” 

“When I get like this…” Bitty said, looking down. “I...showers are hard. My thoughts sound louder in there, by myself, and I can’t- I can’t look in the mirror without having a panic attack.”

Ransom wanted to scoop Bitty up in a hug, the way Holster did to him when he was in a bad place, the way Ife had when he was younger and was kept awake by nightmares, but he held off. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

“In the shower?” Bitty sounded almost scandalized, which was a step up from small and sad. 

“In the  _ bathroom _ ,” Ransom clarified. “I could talk to you while you wash up. Keep your mind off of...things.”

“Oh.” Bitty looked at him, stunned, then embarrassed. “Oh, you don’t have to- I’m sure you have better things-”

“Bits. Would it help?” 

Bitty nodded, jerking his head up and down in short, uncertain motions. Ransom smiled at him.

“Then I’ll do it. Plus I _have_ to tell you about this guy in my bio class.”

Bitty groaned and hopped off the bed, still sighing and huffing as he pulled out fresh pajamas and boxers from his dresser. Ransom continued on, rambling about how this guy was  _ tall _ and  _ athletic _ and maybe not as  _ smokin’ hot _ as Bitty but pretty decent-looking and super nice. 

Ransom had always found Bitty easy to talk to, even when Bitty was a wide-eyed, shell-shocked Frog who had  _ no idea _ how to interact with jocks who didn’t want to beat him up. So after making Bitty promise to at least give Brady a chance, Ransom moved onto talking about the pretty girl in the library who shared her six-pack of Five Hour Energies with him yesterday. Bitty laughed in all the right places of the story, the sound only a little muffled by the running water and shower curtain. 

When Bitty got out, Ransom turned to let him dry off and get dressed in private. It’s not like they weren’t naked in front of each other all the time in the locker room, but Bits was pretty good at not letting other people see him. Most of the time he waited until the boys were gone to take his shower and oftentimes got dressed in one of the toilet stalls. 

Ransom always wondered if that was a result of low self-esteem or an old habit of self-preservation. He already knew Bitty’s mastery of never,  _ ever  _ looking at someone in the locker room was an old standby from his high school days, but he’d never been certain of why Bitty hid his body away from the others. 

When Bitty was done he headed straight for the bathroom door, which made Ransom frown. “Don’t you have to, like, do your hair and face care and stuff?” 

Bitty shrugged. “That all requires a mirror.”

“Bro,” Ransom said, gripping Bitty’s shoulders. “Who needs a mirror when you have a bro?”

“Rans,” Bitty said. “You really don’t have to-”

“Okay, so where’s your acne cream?” Ransom said, rummaging through the medicine cabinet. “There it is, Holtzy uses the same brand as me, and by that I mean he just steals mine. Ooh, and your hair serum, that’s some fancy shit, Bits. Wait, is this your eye cream? Does it work? Can I steal some?” 

Bitty was very patient as Ransom rambled, drying Bitty’s hair and directing him on his face routine. There was still a sadness in his eyes, even as Ransom talked, but he seemed more energetic than before. Ransom realized that this was the most he’d ever touched Bitty in one sitting - more than Bitty had ever let himself be touched. 

As they were finishing up, Bitty’s stomach growled, loud and angry. Ransom raised an eyebrow. 

“It may...have been awhile since I’ve eaten,” Bitty hedged when he saw Ransom’s pointed look. 

“How long?” He asked. Bitty huffed.

“You sound like Shitty. I ate breakfast this morning before class. Eggs and bacon, lots of protein.” 

“Bits.” Ransom sighed. “I saw bagel bites in the fridge?”

Bitty nodded. “That sounds good.” 

In the five minutes it took Ransom to grab and microwave the bagel bites, he thought about Bitty and his mirror issues. Was it a body issue thing? Was that why he hadn't eaten since breakfast? Or was it something else entirely?

As he marched back up the stairs, Ransom decided it didn't really matter. What mattered was Bitty was in a bad place and it was Ransom’s solemn duty as a bro of the Haus to try and help. 

“Bites for Bits!” He announced as he reentered the room. Bitty was back in his curled up position on the bed, but his pajamas and hair were clean and his smile a little less forced. “And me because I'm starving.” 

“Thanks,” Bitty said, grabbing one of the mini bagels. They were still piping hot from the microwave, but that didn't stop Bitty from shoving half of it into his mouth and groaning. When he noticed Ransom’s stare, he looked down in embarrassment.

Without breaking eye contact, Ransom shoved a whole bagel into his mouth, chewed three times, and swallowed it down. Bitty looked disgusted but accepted it for the show of solidarity that it was. Bitty didn't need to feel ashamed for being hungry. 

“I forget to eat,” Ransom said, grabbing another bagel from the plate. “When I'm in Coral Reef mode. Lost fifteen pounds my first semester, until Holster caught on and started bringing me food.” Bitty’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “He doesn't always understand, but he's a dad at heart. It's in his nature to take care of people.” 

Bitty smiled. “What about you, mister pre-med? Seems like it's in your nature, too.”

Ransom grinned. “Yeah, maybe. But it doesn't- it's something I want to do, but also something I have to work at. I'm the middle child, so my big sister was always the one making sure my little sister and I were okay. And Dami doesn't need  _ anybody  _ to look out for her, so I was never really that kind of big brother.” He laughed, thinking of his spitfire of a little sister. “She wants to major in Environmental Studies, go to ESF in Syracuse and study dirt and save the trees and whatever.” 

“Imagine that,” Bitty said, pulling his stuffed bunny to his chest. “An Oluransi wanting to save the world.” 

Ransom laughed, a happy sort of warmth blooming in his chest. “My parents aren’t too happy. It's bad enough that I came to the States for school - now Dami wants to come for  _ dirt _ . Ife was the good child, she went to  _ McGill  _ like the overachieving Canadian she is _. _ ”

“Please tell me she’s, like, a lawyer or something,” Bitty said, smirking at Ransom. “Please tell me your entire family is just a sackful of do-gooders and overachievers.” 

“Teacher,” Ransom said with a proud grin. “Works with underprivileged kids, tries to help them love learning and figure out what their passions are. She’s a really good person.” 

“Sounds like,” Bitty said with a soft, sweet smile. “A whole family of  _ really good people _ .” 

Ransom beamed widely at him. “Aw, Bits,” he said and flung himself on top of Bitty, careful not to knock over the bagel bites. 

Bitty grunted in pain but shifted until Ransom’s weight was mostly distributed on his abdomen. Almost giggling, Ransom wrapped his arms around Bitty’s waist, snuggling in close. 

“You and Holster are so cuddly,” Bitty said, shoving at Ransom’s shoulder. Ransom held on tighter, pillowing his head on Bitty’s stomach. “Seriously, what’s up with that? Do the two of you just, like, snuggle constantly when we’re not looking?”

“Pretty much,” Ransom said. “But it’s more fun cuddling you, you’re small enough to be a teddy bear.” 

“Shut up,” Bitty grumbled. “I'm a normal size.”

“Sure, Bits, sure.” When Bitty kept squirming, trying to get out from under him, Ransom said, “Bro, stop acting like you've never cuddled anyone in this bed before.”

Bitty gasped, looking scandalized. “That is none of your business, Mr. Oluransi- You're not getting any deets from  _ me-”  _

Ransom looked up at Bitty, delighted. “Bits, I was talking about last weekend when Holster passed out in here with you, not-  _ Bitty, deets, please. _ ”

“ _ No, _ ” Bitty said forcefully. “Plus, it's not like I have a whole lotta deets to give. 

“Would it... _ help? _ ” Ransom asked, waving his hand in a vague gesture. “Your thing?” 

Bitty gaped at him. “I can't tell if you're propositioning me or offering to hook me up, but either way,  _ no.” _

They both laughed, though Bitty looked more mortified than amused. 

“I’d totally blow you if you thought it would make you feel better right now,” Ransom said, possibly a little too seriously. “Not kidding, Bits.”

“Oh, my God,” Bitty muttered in horror. “You’re even worse than Holster.”

“I’ve never done it before,” Ransom admitted, tapping his chin. “But I’ve watched a lot of porn. It can’t be that hard, right?” 

“Please stop,” Bitty said, covering his face in his hands. But he was giggling, too, so Ransom continued. 

“Like, I know the rules, lots of suction, no teeth - unless you’re into that?” He could feel Bitty shaking with silent laughter. “Oh, you  _ so _ are, aren’t you?”

“No!” Bitty cried, shoving at Ransom’s head. “Stop chirpin’ me, you pervert!” 

“Itty Bitty likes it rough and dirty,” Ransom teased, laughing as Bitty tried to wriggle out of his grasp. “Ooh, Bits, I bet you’re a screamer, too.” 

“Justin Oluransi, I swear to sweet, baby Jesus if you don’t stop  _ right now- _ ”

Ransom cackled, loosening his grip. With all of his strength, Bitty kicked Ransom off the bed, face as red as a beet. 

“Oh, my God, Bits,” Ransom choked out between laughs. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

“You’re such a dick,” Bitty said primly, glaring at Ransom over the side of the bed. But his eyes were bright, lips twitching as he held back a smile. Ransom beamed up at him. 

“Anytime, Bits. Anytime.” 

Bitty looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then slid off the bed and offered him a hand. “I think I’ll make a pie,” he said as he pulled Ransom to his feet. “What flavor would you like?” 

“Ooh!” Ransom followed him out of the room, thinking. “What about, like, a pumpkin spice latte pie? To feed our addictions?” 

“So, a pumpkin pie?” Bitty asked drily. Ransom scoffed.

“We both know PSLs are  _ way _ better than pumpkin pies.”

Bitty laughed, bright and loud, and pulled out his phone. “Well, my mama  _ did _ recently pin a recipe for PSL  _ cookies… _ ”

“‘Swawesome,” Ransom said, leaning against the counter. “I’m super hungry.” 

Btty snorted. “Even after all those bagel bites?”

“Hey, I am a  _ growing boy- _ ”

“Okay,  _ growing boy _ , use all that height you got there to fetch me the flour and sugar,” Bitty said, pulling out a bowl. “Is Murder Stop n’ Shop still open? We might need more pumpkin.” 

“We have, like, six cans of the stuff,” Ransom said incredulously. Bitty fixed him with a blank stare. 

“You boys really don't understand how much y’all eat in a sitting, do ya?” 

That made Ransom laugh. “You sound like my parents.”

Bitty shrugged and snatched the sugar from Ransom’s hands. “I've been told on more than one occasion that I'm the team mother.”

Ransom leaned his chin on Bitty’s head, elbows on his shoulders. Bitty huffed but continued measuring out ingredients. “Mama Bits,” Ransom said. “Ooh, you should have a cooking show, Mama Bitty’s Southern Cooking.”

Bitty snorted. “Alright, you can be the one to pitch that to the Food Network.” He moved to grab butter from the fridge, movements slowed by Ransom’s weight on his back. “Sugar, I need you to grab me the can opener. Oh, and put on some tunes, the Haus is too quiet tonight.” 

“Okay, but not too loud,” Ransom said, pulling away to plug his phone into the little speakers Shitty had bought for the kitchen last Christmas. “Holtzy’s asleep.” 

Bitty smirked over his shoulder at Ransom. “Please, that boy’ll be awake the minute he smells baking.” 

They kept the music low anyway, content to chatter over it as they worked. He probably wouldn't admit it, but Ransom had a  _ Bitty _ playlist, mostly for impromptu squatting competitions and locker room dance parties. Sia and Katy Perry weren't really his jam, but they were Bitty’s, and it wasn't a jam session if Bitty wasn't involved. 

An hour later, Holster came downstairs, following the scent of pumpkin spice, and found Bitty and Ransom covered in flour, singing Beyonce at the top of their lungs, and bouncing around the kitchen like jumping beans. Still half-asleep, Holster grabbed half of the cookies on the cooling rack and backed away slowly, slipping back upstairs. His bros were having a moment. It would be a while before they noticed anything missing. 


End file.
